


Your Barista Is...

by exklusiv



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exklusiv/pseuds/exklusiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael does not want to answer the phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Barista Is...

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr went in a tizzy over [this](http://acutepencil.tumblr.com/post/53380222770) post for a bit and I had to write a ficlet about it. This is that ficlet. This was originally posted over on my livejournal page exklusiv_writes.

Michael looked over at his phone, very annoyed that it was ringing while he was eating a bowl of cereal.

“What?” he said testily after turning it on speaker, unwillingly to hold anything other than his spoon.

“ _Bro, you gotta get over here._ ”

Michael crunched on a spoonful of Frosted Flakes. “Ray, what the fuck are you doing up so early, and on a Saturday?”

“ _To be honest, I didn’t even go to bed last night. I’m going to drink this latte and then crash but only after you come over here._ ”

“Where am I going? I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“ _Come down to the coffee shop on tenth. You have to see this. It’s great._ ”

“I’ve already had coffee.”

The sigh that Ray emitted was almost loud enough to rattle his phone against the counter. “ _Please, man, you are not going to regret this. Please. I am begging you. I will give up the championship belt to you if you do this._ ”

Michael paused. Ray kept a fierce hold on his wrestling championship belt, which he had hoarded since they were in high school. “You’re serious.”

“ _You have fifteen minutes._ ”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

* * *

Michael, man of his word, was at the coffee shop in ten minutes, dressed hastily but neatly, a beanie firmly on his head. Ray was standing outside, looking a little like he had no boundaries but plenty of exhaustion. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Alright, you got me out here. What is so important that I need to be here?”

Ray handed Michael a piece of paper and smiled. “The answer to all your dreams have come true.”

Michael unfolded the piece of paper and looked at it. “Ray, this is my name and my phone number.”

“I know! You’re going to need it. I promise, you will thank me for it later, just go inside and order a fucking drink!”

“Alright, alright! Jesus Christ,” Michael said irritably, pocketing the piece of paper and stepping into the coffee shop. The area was muted and warm and smelled like the best coffee in the world; this was, by far, his favorite coffee shop. And it was made even better by the barista that worked mornings.

Michael had long nursed a soft spot for the barista; something he had never admitted to anyone, except Ray, who had bullied it out of him with his special brand of New York smooth talk that frustrated Michael. No one he knew or cared about was homophobic but he was not willing to be cooed over with many proclamations of, “oh, just go talk to him!” and butting their noses in where they did not belong. No, Michael admired from afar and kept himself bittersweetly happy over it.

But today, that didn’t seem like an option. Today, his favorite barista, a one very skinny and very English man named Gavin, stood at the cash register with his white apron over a black polo shirt, his hair a straw heap mess. In front of the register was the usual sign that stated Gavin’s name and his recommended drink, except the sign did not say the usual spiel. Instead, the shiny black sign proudly declared a new message.

_**Today your barista is:**_  
1\. Hella fucking gay.  
2\. Desperately single 

_**For your drink today, I recommend:**_  
You give me your number. 

Michael stared at the sign, felt simultaneously like he wanted to die and scream, then walked up to the counter. He pointedly looked down at the sign, then the barista.

“That’s pretty bold of you,” he said nonchalantly, pulling out his wallet and the piece of paper Ray had given him.

Gavin shrugged. “Yanno. Desperate times, desperate measures.”

“So it wasn’t that you lost a bet or anything?”

“Nah, this is all my doing,” he said sheepishly, grinning.

“You get any numbers?”

“Loads, believe it or not.”

Michael tried not to look crestfallen. “Any you’d like to pursue?”

Gavin shrugged again. “Maybe. Really, this is only one person I’ve been hoping for, and I’m still holding out for him.”

“I hope he comes along and gives you his number.” Michael ordered a simple latte with no frills and the barista whipped it up for him, handing it over as he told him his total. Michael handed him the money, and when Gavin handed him his change, Michael slid his piece of paper into his palm.

“Thanks for the latte,” he said politely, taking a sip and walking off. Before he reached the door, he heard a chuckle.

“Thanks for the number I was holding out for, Michael.”

It took everything within Michael to not get defensively embarrassed.


End file.
